-Worlds Apart- Ruination (18 page)

Not a day has gone by that I haven’t thought about Nessa. The hurt cuts just as deep now as it did two months ago. I teeter down the stairs, my ankle’s unsteady. The other citizens pass me, none of them noticing me. I take my favorite route back to the compound. I torture myself daily on my walks. I walk the roads and paths that remind me of her. I pass the trees and flowers that I know she would have loved.

The massive buildings tower above me, their shadows are imposing and grand. Detail after detail is strewn across each building. Central is magnificent.

The regulators that gave me the beating were suspended for their use of ‘unnecessary force.’ I suppose in a way that made me feel a little better, at least they’d been punished. That helped me start to accept this place as home.

The marble steps to my unit are much easier without the crutches. I climb them toward my third floor apartment. I get to the door and hold my forearm to the scanner. Most citizens have their implants in their right arm. Mine was in a cast when they implanted it so I’ve got mine in the left. The alarm clears and my door slides open. I step inside shedding my white jacket.

I slump onto my sofa assessing myself. Both my forearm and leg are atrophied compared to the other sides. They look strange and shrunken. I wiggle my fingers and grab the paper from my coffee table. I’ve been wanting to make one of these since they immobilized my hand. I know it’s just another form of torture but somehow I think it’ll help.

I start folding the paper, shaping it like a fox. I know I’ll never see her again, never give it to her, but it makes me feel closer to her.

Chapter 28

The peak of July’s dry season has carried in an arid and suffocating blanket of heat making my body feel like it’s hanging on every inch of my skin, right down to the insides of my throat. I wake this morning like I have almost every morning for a month now, soaked in my own perspiration and sucking on dehydrated air. My mouth’s nearly as dry as my streambed. 

I swing my legs off my makeshift cot, pattering barefooted down the worn trail leading to my dying stream. The blades of grass have stopped attempting to grow along my beat down trail, leaving me with a dirt path littered with stones.

I’ve been clearing the rocks. My motivation being the wound on my left forefoot that’s finally healing after stepping on a particularly jagged rock about a month ago. As I continue my trek towards the stream I pull at some of the ripened raspberries that have come into season. I transplanted the bushes months ago and now my rows of berries gleam red and delicious. I toss a handful in my mouth letting the burst of sweetness fill my tongue.

The berries and dandelions I cultivated have been a savior. Game’s been sparse in the unforgiving heat. The watering holes are dried and without them food was forced to travel elsewhere. I continue towards the water with the sun glistening across the top nearly blinding me. I squint momentarily. When my vision recovers I see a man lying on his back, arms cradling his head. My heart stops as acorn-eyes turn to look at me. My stomach somersaults as I run. My legs peddle downhill cutting through the dandelions.

“Garret!” I shout.

He rises and turns to me. His eyes bear deep into mine, he opens his arms as I bound toward him. He tenses as I leap into his open arms. I feel pain before I’ve registered I’ve fallen.

Dandelions press into my head. A small trickle of blood dances across my forehead. Grass, dandelions, and blood are all I lay on. Not Garrett. I lift myself to my hands and knees, squeezing my eyes so tight that a surge of blood falls. It coats the green blades below. How could I be so stupid to think he’d be here? He can’t leave Central and even if he could, he’d never find me. It’s been a long time since I let myself be weak but right now I do. I relive the heartache of losing him. I want to cry but my body’s too weak and dehydrated to let any moisture escape.

I sit on the blood-coated grass for the better half of the morning. By this time the sun’s crawled into the endless blue sky and scorches my parched and ragged skin. I slink my way to the bony remains of my stream sipping straight from it. I move toward my cot as the sun begins to set. As it does the unrelenting heat collides with a burst of cold air that sprints in from the north. 

I’ve felt nights like this before, it’s the makings of a perfect storm. Many summer nights I’d stay up watching the long tenuous bolts of light dance across the skyline. They’d reach their jagged fingers toward earth. Emma was terrified of storms. I wonder who’ll comfort her now that I’m gone. It used to be my duty to protect her, but not now.

I boil a handful of dandelions for dinner. None of my snares were tripped today. The idea of food is unappealing anyway. I force myself to finish my stew. I close my eyes, awaiting sleep. The cold northern winds push hard as the epicenter of the warring temperatures hover above me.

An ear-splitting crack sharply wakes me. My heart bounds against my ribs as I reorient myself. This is my first storm in the wild. There’s something terrifying about being exposed like this. The wind crashes against my shelter as my assortment of supplies I’ve collected sway wildly in the assault. I should secure them but I’m temporarily paralyzed. Another crack wails and the sky’s lit like midday, I see a large timber across the river tip toward the earth.

Darkness falls again and I hear the crash of the tree as it meets the ground. Of course I knew lightning could be dangerous, I just never feared it before. Never really thought it would have the chance to hurt me. Now I see its power. Another whip of thunder cracks and my entire hilltop quakes. The bolt strikes down in the middle of my field. The thirsty land’s no match for the fiery energy. Within seconds the field’s ablaze.

Bright orange walls of fire extend, consuming everything in its path. The gusting winds carry embers of light scattering them all around me. I leap to my feet sprinting to the closest fire. I stomp out the wall that formed along my dandelion field.

Intense heat attaches to my back and dances along my spine. There’s a wall of orange against my shelter. My home, my everything’s about to be destroyed. I run uphill, choking from the assault. Smoke creeps its way into every crevice of my lungs. My eyes water and burn and my throat and chest constrict.

I should leave and run away but I can’t, I have to fight for my home. I stumble to my shelter grabbing armfuls of dirt, desperately throwing them onto the encroaching wall. I’m fighting a losing battle but I don’t care. I fling armful after armful of dirt but the wall continues growing.

I can’t win, I have to surrender, I see it now. I backpedal past my shelter as another wall of heat scorches me. I’m surrounded. Smoke and heat blanket me and I can’t see past the thick barrier of grey ash. My throat constricts and I hear a sick wheezing from my chest. My legs buckle and I collapse. I gasp for air like a fish out of water. I close my eyes with the heat and smoke closing in around me. I see Emma smiling on our bed and then Papa smiles looking straight into my eyes before he hugs me. This must be death and I can’t fight it. 

Chapter 29

I’ve dragged myself this far, I don’t even let myself think about turning back. I need supplies for Vanessa. The black door’s solid and strong so I make my fist tight and bang on the wood. A deep voice startles me.

“Be right there,” he says. There’s a sliding noise coming from behind the door and I figure it must have something to do with the hole facing my head. I step to the side worried it could be used for a weapon.

“Who are you?” The man barks in a gravely tone.

“Sir?”

“Who are you?” He repeats.

“Sorry. Name’s Ty, I got your address from the flyer.”

“Did you not see it said every Tuesday night, 6:00?”

“I’m sorry but I sorta need help now. Can you open up?”

“I’m not opening without a damn good reason.” He’s clearly irritated.

“I’m a citizen of the divide. I’m from the Inner sector, I need help.” I cringe as I open my mouth, waiting for foreigners to pounce and demolish me. Right as I finish my sentence there’s a string of beeps and the door pulls open. He’s a tall man, well-built and strong. If I had to guess I’d say he was probably thirty, maybe older. He has dark skin and eyes and a look of suspicion when he sees me. 

“This way,” he says, gesturing me off his front stoop. “I’m Jon by the way.”

I follow him into his enormous loft where cream and black leather couches and chairs break-up the open room. His panoramic television’s on. He even has a kitchen all to himself. I can’t believe foreigners live like this. I feel awkward and outta place in his unspoiled home and I fidget clumsily with my growing beard.

“You can sit.” His hand points to an oversized leather stool next to the counter. I sit looking into his kitchen. 

I must have interrupted his breakfast, he’s got pans and bowls scattered along the black marble countertop. I watch him alternating between beating eggs and stirring thick batter. He reaches into his refrigerator pulling out extra eggs and milk, adding another portion to each bowl. It would probably be polite to object but my stomach’s knotted in a tight and spinning ball from starvation.

I keep twirling my hands through my beard while I try stifling the noises coming from my gut. I can’t help watching the food the entire time, right up till he slides it onto my plate.

“Pace yourself. You don’t look like you’ve eaten a decent meal in a while.” He says as he pushes the plate of eggs and pancakes in front of me. “You’ll get sick if you eat too fast.”

“Uh huh, thanks.” I drone through my second bite of eggs. They’re perfect, mouthwatering and delicious. I eat like a wild animal and am blissed-out when I feel the knot in my stomach releasing. As the knot fades I can’t help but feel a little sting for Vanessa. She’s not lucky like me; she’s still in the wild probably dealing with that constant ache of hunger that you never really get rid of.

“Let’s get down to business,” Jon snaps. “What are you doing here?”

I swallow my last bite of eggs before I talk. “I’m sorta lost... I don’t really know where to start.” I trail off, “Central told us the foreigners,” his eyebrows raise as he smirks. I swallow, “Sorry, that’s what we’ve been taught to call you.” He relaxes letting me continue. “Anyway, we’ve been told you’re murderers and thieves living in filth. It was supposed to be chaos out here. And then I show up and you have cities, homes… lives. Actually, your lives seem better than ours.” I pause, “Does that mean all those years we were lied to? I don’t get it.” He waits, probably hoping I’ll piece the puzzle together for myself.

“You don’t get it?” He asks. I sit dumb as he stares at me. “It’s all about control with Central. It always has been and always will be.” Swallowing he continues, “There was the crash of the dollar years ago and more crime than before, but there
wasn’t
civil war
yet
. It wasn’t until the government tried to take our freedoms that the war started. It was a divide of sorts.” He stares past me, “Half the nation conceded to blindly follow the government and the other half, my half, stood and fought. We weren’t willing to give up our freedoms.” I sit, gripping his words.

He starts again, “You’re kept corralled and indefensible. Living for rules and lives unnatural to human existence while we’re out here,
free
.” He looks at me as he says the last word. “I’m free to come and go, to travel or not. I can do whatever I want. Central’s too proud to ever admit their way was wrong. They’ve built walls around you so you’ll never find out just how bad you’ve got it. For years sympathizers all over the country have been collecting intel and raising forces to liberate your people.”

“What did you just say?” I ask.

He looks at me sort of confused. “Which part?” He asks.

I can’t hide my tone. “The part about savin’ us.”

“There are groups all over the country whose singular charge is to take down the walls of Central.”

“And what about the other foreigners? The ones that want us dead?” I ask. He looks confused.

“There aren’t any ‘foreigners’ trying to kill you. What are you talking about?” He asks exasperated.

“That’s why we have patrols surroundin’ our walls, to keep the foreigners out. You attacked us three years ago, you killed dozens of people with a military hover.” He barely pauses before laying it out.

“Ty, I’m sorry you believe that. It’s hard to tell you this but that wasn’t us. It was Central.” I squirm in my chair. A part of me doesn’t believe it, but a bigger part of me does. “We have a treaty and we follow it. No attacks have been made in decades. Our only efforts are at liberating you,” he pauses, “I swear.”

I’m standing before I even realize I wanted to. I’m nauseated and dizzy. “I need to use your bathroom,” I say watching Jon point toward the narrow hall.

“Second door on the right.”

I’m up and turning so fast that I nearly knock over the small black table sitting neatly against the wall. A warm burn lifts from my gut. I make it to the toilet just in time to lose my breakfast.

“You shouldn’t have eaten so fast,” Jon shouts as he clatters in the kitchen.

True, but that’s not why I’m sick. I’m sick because I’m the only person that knows the truth about Central. I want to believe Jon’s wrong but deep down I know he’s not. Central exiled Nessa and I to die together. They lied to us about the foreigners. I know they are bad, Jon just happened to be the one to confirm it.

Somewhere over those walls my family’s going through their routines like sheep being led to slaughter. Vanessa’s a day closer to dying for a society and government that puts so much stock into its own power that it actually attacks its own people to keep them in fear.

I flush the toilet and rinse my mouth with the fresh water that empties from his silver faucet. I lift my eyes to the gold-framed mirror and automatically do a double take. My cheeks have sunken-in looking like chiseled rock. My eyes sit too deep and my hair’s matted in layers of filth. I look foreign.